


The Outliers

by GenimStilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Multi, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Self Harm, Slow Build, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, post 3b, relationships of convienience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenimStilinski/pseuds/GenimStilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Nogitsune, Stiles slipped back into his own bubble, spending less time with others and generally failing at coping with all the trauma and loss he's faced.</p><p>As the school year starts and Stiles continues his self isolation, he finds himself invited to join a small group of students who, like him, don't really fit anymore. They meet in the basement boiler room and talk about anything and everything, or sit in silence in solidarity. They each have their own admittedly unhealthy ways to cope, but none of them judge. After all, they're all ultimately the same.</p><p>NOTE: Incomplete, and likely to remain thus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, Please Read: Possible triggers ahead: This fic involves graphic depictions of self harm, and many characters condone and encourage it. The characters depicted are fictional and utilize unhealthy means to cope with a variety of issues. This does not mean that I, GenimStilinski, intend to condone self harm. If you or someone you know is self harming, please seek help. As always, my ask box is always open if you need to talk. URL is in the end notes.

            After the whole Nogitsune thing, Stiles could hardly look his father in the eyes anymore, let alone Scott. And now that Derek was safe and sound back in Beacon Hills, Stiles could safely slip back into the shadows of his room. Besides, Scott didn’t really seem to want or need him now. He’d been splitting his time between work with Deaton, training Malia, being sort-of-something with Kira, and eating meals with his mom. Scott’s dance card was sort of full, and he wasn’t even trying anymore, or so it seemed.

            Maybe it was just as hard for Scott to be with Stiles right now. They both knew that he didn’t kill Allison, but there was a mutual understanding that the thing that did was under the control of some demon wearing Stiles’ face, and that image was hard to get rid of. Despite popular demand, no one’s come up with brain bleach yet. Technology for time travel is still a few years out, too. What’s done is done, but for the both of them, it wouldn’t stop playing in their minds. At least, for Stiles it did. Scott seemed to be finding plenty of distractions, no matter how hard it hurt.

            Of course, it was also possible that Scott just knew that Stiles needed some space, or that Melissa advised him to give him some. Or the Sheriff? His dad had mentioned that Scott had been by the station a few times since Agent Dickwad McLoser went back to wherever the hell he’d been in the past few years. Stiles had suspected that it was because his dad was as much a father to Scott as Melissa was a mother to him, but it could be the case that Stiles had come up during those visits. His dad never really said anything about them, so…

            The first day of junior year rolls around, and Stiles and Scott have broken with their 5 year tradition of meeting up for breakfast and then riding in together. It wasn’t really discussed, but…well, it wasn’t really discussed. How could they plan a meetup when they haven’t texted each other since the discussion of “Hey, have you seen Derek lately?” they had at the beginning of summer vacation.

            Stiles eats alone, spreading a thin layer of peanut butter onto a slightly burnt piece of multigrain toast and scarfing it down with a reheated cup of yesterday’s coffee. Thank God or Allah or Jehova, or whoever diety else was out there for the toast, or the acidity of the coffee would make him sick. He didn’t know why his dad still bought the shitty kind of cheap coffee after all these years, but it was still better than nothing. He’d been forced to cut back on his Adderall intake after his stint in Eichen House, so any caffeine he could get his hands on was a miracle. His dose was smaller, and his dad only gave him a week’s worth at a time in a little daily medicine container on the bathroom counter. The rest was locked up in the gun safe, because clearly the Sheriff knew he’d had a habit of taking two when he was only supposed to take one. The doc must’ve known, too, since he always had to go in to get his next bottle when he ran out-- controlled substance, you know?

            After he finished, he took a banana out of the bowl on the counter and stuck it in his backpack before heading out to the jeep.


	2. First Day Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After spending the majority of his summer alone in his room where the only things expected of him were to keep that one room clean (not difficult when he hardly did anything but sleep or browse the internet) and shower every few days, coming back was a little overwhelming. There would be classes to sit through, homework to do, papers to write, and no chance of a nap. Well, no chance of a nap without getting detention after school for it._

            One of the biggest advantages of being a junior was that by now, you knew where pretty much everything was. If you didn’t have classes in one part of the school as a freshman, you probably would as a sophomore, and by junior year, you could get around the building to all your new classes without a map. Before going to his locker for the first time that morning, Stiles ran through his schedule, mentally placed where everything was, and hyped himself up for going inside.

After spending the majority of his summer alone in his room where the only things expected of him were to keep that one room clean (not difficult when he hardly did anything but sleep or browse the internet) and shower every few days, coming back was a little overwhelming.  There would be classes to sit through, homework to do, papers to write, and no chance of a nap. Well, no chance of a nap without getting detention after school for it. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a free period this year. All he could be grateful for was that it seemed that for the most part, the hard classes would be in the morning, and his electives in the afternoon. That sort of thing was unheard of.

First period physics was about as boring as one might expect, given that today would mostly be the disbursement and review of syllabi and first day games. He elected to sit in the very back; he didn’t see anyone he was particularly close with, anyways. Having Ms. Martin for a teacher was a godsend, though, because she knew well enough to call him Stiles when calling roll rather than attempting and butchering his unused given name.

He didn’t make it there quickly enough to be selective of his seating. Somehow he still found himself sandwiched between Scott and Danny, though, with Kira behind him, so it wasn’t too bad. They all greeted him with small smiles, and Kira rubbed his shoulder in greeting as he slouched into his seat. They didn’t ask about his summer, or if he’d gone to Derek’s since he, Scott, and Kira brought him back, or what his schedule was. It was amicable, and less uncomfortable than he feared. He was also grateful that none of them mentioned the dark circles under his eyes, or how he didn’t really regain any of the weight he lost while possessed. If anything, he’d grown thinner, and he knew full well he looked a little gaunt, but they held their silence. It probably helped that their teacher was right on time, and none of them had the chance to say a word.

Still, they parted ways without much ado, and he found himself walking beside Lydia to Trigonometry. They had two person tables in that class rather than desks, so Stiles politely pulled out a chair for Lydia to sit in, and she thanked him as he pushed it in and joined her. He had some misgivings about trig, but if there was any one thing he could do to help himself out, it was to sit with Lydia. Isaac had trouble in math last year, but Lydia whispering to him when he wasn’t getting it really helped him.

In some moment of insanity, Stiles had decided signing up for Latin as an elective would be beneficial to him, particularly for pack research purposes, but when he went to third and got his syllabus and first vocabulary sheet, he decided that his decision making skills must have been impaired. Still, after contemplating Mr. Lindsey’s assurances that, though difficult, it wasn’t as intensive as the syllabus made it appear, Stiles opted not to march to the office after school to try to change classes.

Fourth was World History with Mr. Yukimura, and Stiles managed to snag the coveted seat in the back one row in. He spotted Danny in the center, whom he boldly patted on his way to the back (also a moment in which he questioned his judgement), and Scott slipped in right before the bell rang. He got the not-so-coveted seat front and center. Classrooms with an odd number of rows were the worst, because it always meant that some poor kid would always be directly across from the teacher. The only person he knew to like that seat was Greenberg.

Fucking Greenberg.

As he left History, he checked his schedule again to confirm that it was lunch time before heading outside. He felt exhausted already, physically and socially, so he opted to head over to sit alone under a tree. In doing so he passed right by Scott, Kira, Lydia and Danny, who had taken their usual outdoor bench. He slowed, but did not stop, despite Scott’s slightly hopeful glance at him, and Kira’s short lived beckoning. There was a vacancy where Allison should be, and it made him sick.

When Stiles settled at the base of the vacant tree, he vaguely thought about skipping out on eating his banana, given his temporary bout of emotionally induced nausea, but thought better of it. Not eating would only make him feel worse. He still had to go to gym today, and going without anything in his stomach would be hell.

And then, as the bell signaled the end of lunch, he picked up his stuff and headed to Pre-AP English. There was no teacher listed on his schedule, just TBD, so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He just sat in the back and waited as one of the disinterested members in the class getting vaguely annoyed at the few who were whispering their speculations and fears. One idiot loudly announced that they must have forgotten to hire a new teacher, but right after the bell chimed, an unexpected and familiar person strode in.

For some reason, no matter how cunning the guy was, Stiles didn’t ever think of Peter as someone who’d gone off to college at some point. Nor did he think that Peter would ever think about signing up to be a teacher, if not for nefarious purposes. The wolf grinned at the class before (pretentiously) announcing himself as Professor Hale and handing a stack of syllabi to the student sitting at the front of the first row. Stiles bristled as Peter’s glance landed on him during his visual sweep of the room.

Just to be an asshole and a showoff, Peter called him by his first name- correctly- and didn’t move on until Stiles answered him.

“It’s Stiles,” He muttered.

“What was that?” Again, assholery. He knew full well Peter heard him the first time.

“My name is Stiles,” He called a little louder, too tired to be a sarcastic shit about it. Peter nodded and wrote something down on his roll, and Stiles figured it must have all been for show.

As Peter continued down the line, Stiles belatedly noticed that Kira was here, sitting just one seat ahead of him two rows over. Scott must’ve told her about Peter, he figured, based upon how uncomfortable she looked when he got to her name and gave her a smile.

They actually appeared to be reading a multitude of good literature for the semester. Peter also gave them their final paper assignment in the syllabus, which was good, since it would be based upon one of the texts they’d be reading. And of all the syllabi he’d received up until that point, it was by far the most clear and concise. Allowing for a moment the possibility that Peter _wasn’t_ up to something, Stiles couldn’t help but think having Peter for a teacher wouldn’t be so bad.

Still, as the class departed, he lingered, hoping to corner the man before he left.

“If you don’t call me Stiles, I’m not calling you Professor Hale. I’m gonna call you Peter.”  Stiles nearly spat, still a little angry from before. Peter continued packing his things, unfazed by the verbal attack.

“I can tell from your voice you still don’t trust me.”

“No, I don’t.”

Peter sighed, swinging his leather satchel over his head onto his shoulder. “Believe it or not, Stiles, even werewolves get bored, and instead of plotting, I decided to do something more…constructive.”

“Like following Malia to school.” Stiles deadpanned, nearly surprising himself at the revelation.

“I will admit that being near my daughter was part of my motivation, but I also plan on taking great pleasure in waxing poetic about my favorite stories. Now run along, Stiles, I’m sure you have another class to be at, and I’m not writing you an excuse on day one.”

Peter guided him with a steady hand on his shoulder out the door, following and turning the opposite direction down the hall. Stiles almost stood there in shock, but he caught himself, realizing that he only had about a minute to make it to gym. Coach wouldn’t be very happy with him if he were late.

Stiles slipped in before his name was called on the roll, so he counted it as a win. Coach probably didn’t even notice him moving into the group of students standing around him, since no one changed out yet. When Coach finished, he dismissed them to the locker rooms and Stiles found and claimed his lacrosse locker from last year, right by Scott’s. It was habitual, even if he realized how off it all felt when he opened it and found it empty. Usually it was full of gear.

He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to tryout this year. He’d finally made it off the bench and to first line, but the more he thought about going back to it, the more it felt like a chore. The only reason Stiles went out for the sport in the first place was because of Scott. The younger, asthmatic boy more or less insisted that if they made the team, all their social problems would go away. Scott coped with nerddom by trying to find a way up. Stiles coped with sarcasm. It was always their thing, and now Scott was the captain of the team, and Stiles was still Stiles, more or less.

Stiles didn’t really care about popularity anymore anyways. He just wanted to make it through gym class alive, which seemed unlikely, since today they were jumping straight in with a game of dodgeball.

For all it was worth, Scott tried to defend Stiles against the barrage of foam balls pelting their side of the gymnasium, and Stiles tried to protect Jared, who was cowering for fear of getting his glasses shoved into his face like in last year’s opening game. It had been a bloody mess, and Stiles felt as though the group would thank him for saving them the repeat. In the end, it was only himself and Scott left on their side, going against Danny and Kira on the other. Jared was fatefully struck in the knee about halfway through, and though Stiles was half-assing it, Scott was evidently still loyal best friend material, because there they were. Scotty carried him through the whole game.

All four of them had a ball in hand when coach blew the whistle to knock them out of their stare off. Danny was the first to throw, taking aim at Stiles, but out of sheer pack dynamics, Stiles had already calculated that move and blocked the hit with his own ball. He threw back before Danny had the chance to fully retreat, and managed to knock him in the shoulder. At roughly the same time, Kira tossed hers at Stiles, and it hit hard enough to send him sprawling.

Never before had he been so aware he had a tailbone. He struck the ground with an impressive amount of force, landing right on it, and wasn’t that an embarrassing injury? Scott rushed over, to see that he was alright, and Kira was too remorseful and shocked to play dirty and aim for Scott before he could help Stiles off the ground.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, concern etched across his features.

“I’m fine.” His voice squeaked, betraying his pain, and Scott discretely sucked the pain away as he escorted Stiles to the sidelines.

“Thanks.” Stiles mumbled, leaning against the wall beside Malia, who, in spite of her speed, had been pelted in a targeted attack pretty much as soon as the game began. She laughed at him a little before returning her attention to her alpha and packmate facing off to the death on the field of high school glory.

Kira won, of course, and coach pulled her aside to talk about lacrosse tryouts.

Stiles found his way to the showers, sticky and sore, and forgot for a little while that he’d gotten embarrassingly thin. It wasn’t until Scott followed him all the way to his art class with the same concerned look that he realized that he’d been ogled in the locker room. He darted in before Scott could pull him back and ask him again if he was okay.


	3. An Offer from Greenberg

_I couldn’t wait till I got home to pass the time in my room alone._

_Blink-182_

 

            There was an itch- and unlike most itches, this itch lie beneath his skin, and he didn’t know how to scratch it. He didn’t like to be around others when it got bad. His eyes would tear as he drew inward, his lips would tighten shut. He couldn’t actually cry, and he couldn’t scream. All he could do was sink onto his mattress and hope to fall asleep.

            Stiles was used to this by now, but being used to something didn’t necessarily make it any easier. He curled further into his bed, kicking off his shoes as he went, and emptied his pockets onto his nightstand. It didn’t help that Scott kept texting him, so he shut off his phone, too.

            Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…the first week of school passed much in the same way as the first, going in, doing his best to focus, going home alone, staving off panic attacks, and getting to his homework sometime in the evening. He’d sit at his tree at lunch, and he was left alone. Scott and the others would look at him sometimes, and he wasn’t trying to ignore them, but it still hurt too much to face them when all he could see in their eyes was Allison.

            Most people didn’t realize that they were friends, and that they weren’t just hanging around each other because of Scott. At her funeral (which had a huge turnout, by the way), everyone went up and patted Scott and Lydia on the shoulders. They asked the two of them how they were feeling. No one asked Stiles. Hell, one kid actually asked him how he knew her.

 _Breathe, Stiles,_ he told himself, _breathe_.

            He counted his fingers and found there were ten. Somehow, it wasn’t all that reassuring to know that this wasn’t all a dream.

            ---

            “Did you guys notice how Stilinski has been sitting all alone at lunch?” Greenberg leaned against a pipe, addressing the small group before him.

            “Who’s Stilinski?” Beth inquired politely, pulling her blades from her wallet.

            “He’s a lacrosse player. Best friends with McCall.” She and the others nodded and ‘ahh’ed as the familiarity clicked in their minds. “But he’s been passing McCall and friends over for the past few days. He just sits there under a tree staring off into nothing.”

            “You think he might fit with us?” Jesse asked, voice straining slightly as he stretched across the floor to borrow one of Beth’s blades for his coke. He also took the proffered compact mirror from Sarah. They might not be into the same things as him, but at least they got it.

            “Yeah, and even if he doesn’t, he probably wouldn’t narc on us. He may be the Sheriff’s son, but he’s gotten into a lot of trouble himself.”

            “Probably and won’t are two different things, Greenie,” She teased, smoothing the lines on her skirt, “telling him could be a risk. You’ve got to be sure before you invite him down here.”

            “Don’t worry,” He soothed, “I’ll be sure to test the waters first.” Walking straight past her and to the little space between the supply area and the wall, he pulled out his flogger.

            “Anyone wanna help me with this?”

            ---

            Friday was weird. Greenberg kept _looking_ at him. Not glancing, but full on soul searching was going down, and Stiles had no idea what to make of it. It almost felt like being a moth, pinned to the tack board for display by Greenberg’s piercing gaze.

            It didn’t help that his and Greenberg’s lockers were right in the same set. Every passing period Greenberg was there at his locker, waiting, searching for God knows what. Even Peter, who was walking with Ms. Martin between third and fourth period, noticed, and the two of them shared a glance of mutual confusion. Of course, Peter was a werewolf, and Morell once told him he was hyper vigilant. It was more likely that Stiles was freaking out, Peter noticed Stiles was freaking out, and was at a loss to figure out why the class weirdo staring at him would cause such a reaction.

            Nevertheless, when he settled at his tree for lunch, Greenberg stood over him and asked, “May I sit with you?”

            Stiles, for his part, tried not to look petrified. He glanced over to find that Scott was already looking at him, ready to defend his best friend against this unprecedented advance. Lydia, too, was at alert. It was nice to know that they weren’t going to abandon him, even if he was isolating himself for the moment.

            “Uh, sure.” Stiles responded, scooting to the side. He figured he’d be better off knowing what the kid was up to rather than continuing their unwanted staring competition.

            Greenberg looked just as nervous as he did, and Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of it.

            They sat in silence for some time, both intent on consuming what little they brought in food. Stiles nibbled at his turkey and cheddar his father had made for him, and waited it out. Greenberg hardly let his mouth leave the lip of his soda can, as if he was drawing it out. Finally, as it became evident that the can was empty, he bucked up.

            “So, I’ve noticed you’ve been sitting by yourself this week.” Greenberg started, false confidence laid into his voice where it could not take hold in his shaking hands.

            “Yeah, I, uh- well, my friends are over there, it’s just…”

            “They wouldn’t get it, would they?” Greenberg stated, more solemnly than nervous. Stiles shifted, looking back to the other table where Scott was making show of not paying attention (because he totally was), and then nodded. His hands became somewhat more interesting as Greenberg continued.

            “Look, I know you’re going through some stuff. I may not get what you’re going through either, but I think I may have a way to help.”

            He doubted it, but the way the other boy looked at him knowingly, earnestly, sparing him the pity and disgust, Stiles figured it couldn’t hurt to let him try.

            “Okay.” Greenberg gave him a small smile and stood. “Can you meet me after school?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles affirmed, “Where will I find you?”

            “We’re in art class together, remember? We can walk together.”

            Stiles looked over again, and found that Scott was looking at his food like he was about to cry in it. _Sorry Scotty, you can’t save me everytime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is HELLA late, but you know that feeling when you know where you're going but some of the connecting bits just don't wanna cooperate? Yeah, that's what's up. It's okay, though, next chapter should be along within the next few days.


End file.
